


Poker Face

by thetrunk (lithle)



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, CW: Stalking, CW: Suicidal Ideations, M/M, No One Is Okay, Post-War Trauma, Short, things fall apart then come together again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25975882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lithle/pseuds/thetrunk
Summary: After the war Wufei and Heero find each other's company preferable to solitude. At least, at first.Published on FF.net in 2009. Archiving it here on AO3.
Relationships: Chang Wufei/Heero Yuy
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a strange little fic. It was written for a friend, so the pairing isn't one I'm super familiar with writing. Additionally, I originally set myself the challenge of making each 'chapter' exactly one page long in word. And for reasons that elude me, I decided to almost completely refrain from dialogue. 
> 
> So it's a very disjointed, quick little read.

They did not fight as other couples fought. There were no raised voices, crying fits, or broken vases. Sometimes, Wufei almost admired that about them, the cleanness of it, the practicality. But after a few days of anger the silence began to wear and the apartment felt so cold he caught himself dressing in his winter clothes. As if an extra sweater could protect him from eyes that looked past him all unseeing.

They did not fight as other couples did. How could they? Couples dated, shared tokens of affection, acknowledged desire. They did none of that, as if to do so would weaken them, make them more human and so more vulnerable. Instead, when anger threatened, they went cold, stopped speaking.

There was a game of sorts to it. Heero would never acknowledge it and Wufei never said as much out loud. But he knew they were testing each other, showing off, each trying to prove how little they needed each other. How little they really cared. They could go at it for weeks, before one of them broke. And that was a game too, making as little of it as possible, acting as if nothing had changed.

Wufei was sick of it. It'd been comforting at first. Familiar and so like the war, like being a soldier, he'd just sunk into it. They'd treated it like a mission. Talked about what to do instead of what it meant. They still did. It wasn't comforting anymore. Six months and it felt more like confinement than companionship, but there was no getting out. When had Heero ever been willing to give up on a mission?

And what could he say? 'You never take me anywhere nice?' or 'Why don't we ever talk?' And who could he ask? They didn't write self help books with titles like 'Dealing with the Homicidal Ex-Terrorist in your Life' or 'Getting in Touch with your Inner Child Soldier'

He looked across the room at where Heero sat, not speaking. How did you kill, live, die for someone who wouldn't notice if you did? It occurred to him that he didn't remember why they were fighting.

He'd had so many ideas about love, when he'd been younger, before he'd joined the war. Love, peace, literature, poetry. He had believed in so many things. Now, this. And it was—

It was—

"Heero?"

Heero looked up, smiled in the way he did when he'd won, but wasn't going to say it. And Wufei hated him, just then, but it didn't matter because there wasn't anyone else, and there never would be. It'd be so easy, to give him everything. And it was so difficult, to give him nothing.

"I'm moving out."


	2. Chapter 2

Despite what was said, the day continued. Meals. Work. Sex. After that last, Heero left Wufei's room but did not immediately return to his own. Instead, he settled outside the closed door, his back against the wall. When they had first obtained the apartment, they had attempted to share a bedroom. It was how things were done and, lacking a suitable model, they followed suit. It had taken exactly three nights before they had mutually agreed that the situation was less than optimal. For his part, Heero could not relax enough to enter REM state in an occupied room. Moreover, Wufei screamed in his sleep. Separate rooms had improved their living situations but at times, as now, it felt less than optimal.

Beyond the door, Wufei's breathing remained uneven, far from the patterns it assumed while he slept. On average, after sex, Wufei took twenty minutes to fall asleep. He then remained sleeping for between six and seven hours. That gave Heero until approximately five A.M. to find means to prevent Wufei from following through on his plan to leave. Unfortunately, simple methods, such as restraints, were not acceptable. Yet, given that Wufei's departure could be equated with mission failure, even such extreme methods might be worthy of consideration.

There was no reason for him to leave. It was that thought Heero kept returning to. Their current arrangement was mutually beneficial. They suited each other. He had sensed it during the war. The Mariemaia incident had crystallized matters, and Wufei had been quick to see the logic of the idea when approached. Admittedly, they both had some trouble adjusting to sharing space. There were, it could be said, disagreements. But they handled them without violence. Relena called that a good sign. They were at peace with each other.

Now Wufei intended to depart. He would not discuss the matter. Would not explain the decision except to say that it needn't mean an end to their sexual relationship. And Heero had allowed that separate housing was an acceptable adjustment to their circumstances. He could not find any reason why it shouldn't be.

But it wasn't.

Wufei belonged with him. It wasn't a thought derived from any rational analysis. It just was. That was why Heero trusted it. He had learned. If he was not given to emotional impulses, those he had often served him better than the training he was supposed to rely on.

As Wufei's breathing settled into the patterns of sleep, Heero could hear the irregularities that indicated the night would be interrupted by nightmares. As he often did during his vigils in the hallway, he considered reentering the room.

As he'd never done before, he stood and walked back in. Wufei, a heavier sleeper than Heero, did not wake until his name was called.

They stared at each other across the darkness, mirroring, at first, the day's earlier silence.

"Don't leave," Heero said and the words were heavy. "I don't want you to."


	3. Chapter 3

Maybe there was no one quite as ruined as they were and that was why they'd found each other. Was it wrong to want someone not because they were strong, but because they were broken in a way that fit? Sometimes, when Wufei woke shivering in the night, his throat raw, his eyes burning with tears he never shed waking, he thought of death, and the thought was a comfortable one. But he would listen, then. And, listening, he would hear Heero's breath, the careful rhythm of it. It wasn't nice, or sweet, the knowledge that he was waiting, just outside. But it was something to focus on, something that drew him away from the knife's edge his thoughts walked.

They did not talk about the war. There were no stories exchanged, no discussions of tactics or heroism. They didn't need to talk about it. It was everything they did. It was the way Wufei drove. It was the extra locks Heero installed on the door. When they walked next to each other without touching, that was the war. When they had sex, that was the war too. They breathed the war, they ate the war, they fucked the war. They dreamed the war and woke up screaming.

Now Heero was standing in the doorway asking him not to leave. And that wasn't the war in any way that Wufei understood. Oh, the war was in the way Heero stood, in the way he didn't cross the threshold. But the words, the words were pure peacetime. And Heero, Heero more than anything else, more than anyone else, was the war. He was war like Relena was peace and he couldn't just change that. Couldn't just ask for things the way a whole person might.

And Heero couldn't be whole, because Wufei wasn't. Earlier, in the silence, he'd wanted some sign of shared humanity. Now, in the dark of his bedroom, all he wanted was proof that they were both as ruined as they'd ever been.

Heero was waiting in the dark. He showed no signs of leaving, or of asking a second time. And knowing Heero, he'd stand there forever, waiting for an answer. Forever, because Heero didn't know how to give up, how to stop. And that was the problem. That was what had gotten them locked into this—

This.

Now, Heero was trying. Now. When Wufei had already thrown his things into a duffel bag, when he'd already made calls and arranged a place to stay. Now. It should have been good thing. Should have been something. Shouldn't have left him feeling sick. If Heero could change, could heal, could try, why couldn't he? Why was he the one giving up, backing off?

"Heero, you're in my room," He said, mildly, and it wasn't true.

"Stay," Heero repeated.

And looking at him, Wufei knew he should. Knew he wouldn't make it long, without the sound of Heero's breathing outside his door. "No."


	4. Chapter 4

Wufei's suitability as a partner had first occurred to Heero during the war. While physical compatibility and mutual interest were factors, it was primarily Wufei's psychological profile that led to Heero's eventual decision to suggest co-habitation. Wufei was a man of honor and determination, a dangerous enemy and a reliable ally. He lacked Duo or Quatre's social instinct, yet, unlike Trowa, did not emotionally distance himself from his activities.

He was also stubborn. It was a difficult trait not to notice after six months of sharing a small space. Wufei did not know how to give, nor how to forgive, anymore than Heero did. His refusal to stay, even when asked, was not surprising. It simply meant moving on to the next plan.

His first thought, was, of course, Duo. Wufei had a certain amount of affection for Deathscythe's pilot which Heero neither shared nor understood. The two of them occasionally went to movies together or met for meals. And, while Heero found Duo's demeanor and energy irritating, Wufei's loyalties were such that voicing such opinions led to less than comfortable relations between them.

Duo answered his phone groggily, his tone reminding Heero, belatedly, that most people found reason to sleep at three in the morning. Still, no man who had once piloted a Gundam could afford to let exhaustion disorient him. Their conversation, if brief, and less than civil, was cohesive enough to impart the necessary information. Wufei had not arranged to stay with Duo.

Trowa answered on the first ring and his voice was as devoid of tiredness as it was of every other emotion. While he did not care for Duo, Heero could think of little that might be said against Trowa. While they did not socialize, it had more to do with their individual inclinations toward solitude than any tension between them. It took only a few brief sentences before Heero knew all he needed. Wufei had contacted Trowa and requested use of his spare room. Trowa had agreed to allow him. He was not willing to rescind the permission he'd already given. He was expecting Wufei some time later in the morning. He did not know how long Wufei planned to stay.

Heero slept, then. His instincts were somewhat impaired if he did not sleep for at least four hours a night, especially so if he avoided sleep for more than a day or two. The intelligent thing to do was rest so that he might better deal with the problem in the morning.

He slept poorly, his dreams troubling and confused.

When he woke the next morning, Wufei was already in the kitchen, eating. Their eyes met and Heero could think of nothing productive to say. He was struck, instead, by how familiar the sight of Wufei having breakfast had become. Familiar, and something else. Comfortable. Wufei finished his meal without speaking then picked up his duffel bag.

"I'll be in touch," he said.

But Heero could still think of nothing to say. The door closed on silence.


	5. Chapter 5

Somehow, Wufei hadn't expected to actually leave. Even as he'd walked out the door, Heero's silence heavy at his back, he hadn't quite believed it. Something would stop him. Heero would stop him. Heero was good at stopping things.

Worse, he had somehow counted on that fact; he'd trusted in the safety of its inevitability. Heero would stop him. He would get to the doorway, and Heero would stop him, and things would remain the same as they had always been. They wouldn't be good, or healthy. Those words didn't belong to him, to either of them. But they would be safe. Familiar. When enough of your youth was colored, even in memory, the brownish-red of drying blood, safe and familiar was enough. What else could he ask for?

More, apparently. After all, here he was, at Trowa's apartment, with a duffel bag and no intention of going back. Or, at least, no ability. Wufei knew well enough that, having been allowed to leave, he could not slink back like some hungry dog. No. Forget everything. Forget what had been said. Forget the rhythms that had ruled his life making it into something logical and sane.

Focus on the now.

Now was Trowa's apartment. Clean. Stark. Not unlike the one he'd left. It was the dwelling of someone who did not plan to stay. Someone who did not know how to imbue importance into things, knowing those things would only get left behind or destroyed. In valuing nothing, one avoided losing anything of value.

At least, that was the idea. Closer examination showed little things. A mask. A picture of Catherine. There was always something. Duo's place was full of junk, bits of nothing briefly entertaining and quickly forgotten. Quatre, meanwhile, gave as obsessively as Duo collected. But he seemed to have an exhaustive mental catalog of everything he no longer had, as if each gift, each donation, existed to balance an equally exhaustive catalog of sins. Heero had his guns.

They all had their guns.

And Wufei? He'd had Heero.

The room Trowa showed him was small. A bed. A nightstand. They said little to each other. Wufei hung up his clothes. Cleaned his gun. Ate dinner. Read. Tried to sleep. Failed. Read. Slept. Woke gasping and in the panicked darkness, listened, as he always did, for the sound of Heero's breath. Found calm in the sound. And remembered, then, that he shouldn't be hearing it.

Heero was sitting, as he did, in the hallway, his back against the wall. They stared at each other and Wufei found that the only thing that surprised him was that he had not expected it.

"You can't do this," he said.

Heero's lips twitched, the threat of a smile without its actual appearance. He could, of course. He was Heero Yuy. There wasn't anyone who could stop him.

"You're not supposed to do this," Wufei said. And he wanted to sound angry. Tried.

Heero shrugged. "If you come back, it won't be necessary."


	6. Chapter 6

To enter into danger without thought or awareness of potential consequences was not bravery but idiocy. Heero had often found himself in situations where the consequence of failure was death, but he'd always made a point of knowing this fact before hand. It was important to predict consequences. He had known, before he broke into Trowa's house, that he would owe him for the damaged door and alarm system. He'd also known that Wufei was unlikely to take his presence in the hallway well.

He was, therefore, surprised to hear the man laughing.

It was not the sharp, derisive sound he usually associated with Wufei. This was lower, quieter, and somehow less comfortable. The unexpectedness alone was enough to leave Heero uneasy; he did not like the unexpected. But it was something further. The sound itself grated, it held neither Wufei's dark humor nor the sort of joyous battle madness that Heero associated with laughter.

"That's it?" Wufei asked, "No escape?"

"You need me," Heero heard himself saying. He knew it to be true.

Wufei had moved to set his back against the wall, though his posture remained erect.

"So?" Wufei put force behind the question. There was something else, too. Heero couldn't identify it. It wasn't an emotion he knew, but part of it was desperation, and that he understood.

He had no answer. Wufei needed him. They suited each other. That had always been enough.

"We could—" but he didn't know what they could do. His world had never been a thing of possibilities, only of duty and obedience. "Wufei." He heard an echo of what had been in Wufei's voice in his own and still could not identify it.

It occurred to him that he needed to sit outside of Wufei's room just as much as Wufei needed him to sit there. More, if Wufei could walk away.

"Have we ever been happy?" Wufei was asking.

He found he wanted to say yes. He had gained something from Wufei's nearness and he knew Wufei had done the same. It seemed enough like happiness to him. It was all he'd ever asked of life. More.

"I value your presence in my life," he said.

"You could say that for a toaster."

"Come home." He could not bring himself to phrase it as a request.

"Give me a reason."

"Because I believe we have the potential to be happy." And he realized, as he spoke, that it was true.


	7. Chapter 7

As long as he'd known him, Wufei had never considered Heero particularly expressive. Outside the wild joy of battle madness, he rarely showed more than faint hints of emotional response. Indeed, he managed to make his proclamation about potential happiness with the same intense, serious expression that he wore when outlining mission parameters. It was funny, actually, enough so that Wufei had to choke back a second bout of near hysterical laughter.

It was funny. It was also terrifying. Because Heero didn't go around saying things he didn't mean. If he said that they, as he put it, had the potential to be happy, then he really did believe it. Wufei wasn't sure what to do such an idea. He'd never tried to be happy. Leaving Heero was the closest he'd come to even considering his own welfare. And that'd been more about getting sick of a repeating pattern than about finding anything new, let alone better. He'd known they couldn't keep up their games and silences forever.

Did he even want to be happy?

What did it say that he could even ask himself such a question? And what was the answer? He'd thought he'd known. He'd thought he was trying.

Did he deserve to be happy?

No.

Maybe Heero was reaching out. Maybe he believed what he said. But all the shattered memories, the mistakes and losses were too heavy for them to ever have a chance.

"Heero, a good morning is one where I manage to load my gun without putting the barrel in my mouth," he heard himself saying. It was more truth than they usually offered each other. These things were known but went unsaid. "And you believe we should try for happy?"

For a moment, Heero was silent. For a moment, Wufei believed he might have won.

"Yes," Heero said. Just like that. As if it could be so simple. Wufei opened his mouth to say more but Heero raised a hand to stop him. "We tried surviving. It wasn't enough for you. Now, we try something else."

Anger flooded Wufei's thoughts. It wasn't so simple. It'd never be so simple. He wasn't going to let Heero of all people pretend to be so rational, so stable. His tone tightened, growing not sharper but colder, "No it isn't-"

His attention was caught by a slight movement from Heero, who was sitting calmly against the wall. His expression had not changed but as Wufei began to speak, his hands had tightened against the carpet, as if he was looking for something to hold onto. As if he, Heero, needed something to steady him. The words caught in Wufei's throat and died there. Heero continued to regard him levelly. He continued to stare at Heero's hands.

Heero was trying. And yes, he was crazy. And yes, breaking into Trowa's place was just one more symptom of how broken what existed between them was. But they were all they had. Heero was the only one who would ever know to sit outside his room on the bad nights. He was the only one who could look at Heero's hands and see beyond the danger to vulnerability.

"I don't know how," he said and Heero's fingers relaxed.

"Me either." Heero stood and Wufei echoed the motion. They did not touch. "But if you're with me, I'll try."


End file.
